


Honeymoon

by mediocre_jellyfish



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bedelia as a meal, Canon Divergence, Domestic, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post Credits, Post-Canon, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Will’s perspective, but only because I forget shit, pls sir those are my emotional support cannibals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28476483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediocre_jellyfish/pseuds/mediocre_jellyfish
Summary: What happens after the fall
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 53





	1. Perfect Ending

Will Graham always had a plan. And a back up plan. And a fail safe. He had to, working as an FBI consultant. Even on the most normal cases Jack gave him, he had learned that a plan was needed. Yes, he always had a plan - right up until the moment he and Hannibal fell.

To call it a fall was a bit of misnumber. That would imply accident. It was no accident. One moment, they were together, the next they had both, separately and simultaneously, decided to cast themselves off the cliff. It was not part of the plan, there had been no agreement. But still, they fell together. Hit the water together.

In what he thought would be his last moments, he was certain that they would drown together. Arms wrapped around one another. Sinking, slowly, into the cold Atlantic sea. That was a poetic end, wasn’t it? Hannibal would like it. He would liken it to Hans Christian Anderson’s little mermaid, who became so enthralled with love that she dissolved into sea foam. He smiled as his lungs began to burn. A perfect ending.

But then Hannibal pulled away and it wasn’t a perfect ending anymore.

His mind began to feel fuzzy and warm, too warm, and the water began to feel far too cold. He began to be pulled upwards and he wondered vaguely if this is what ‘seeing the light’ felt like, but then salty air hit his face and he was pulled sluggishly onto a beach.

“Will!” The word was like a harsh slap across the face. The fuzziness in his mind faded and he started coughing, hacking up the water in his lungs. His body was pushed to the side and he coughed until his throat felt dry and raw from stinging sea air.

Slowly, he laid back, able to breathe normally now, only to see a familiar face standing above him, just as soaking wet as he was.

“Hello, Hannibal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a friend of mine dragged me into Hannibal and now here we are. I haven’t published anything on here before so pls bear with me :’)


	2. Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where will we go next?” Will asked.
> 
> “Wherever I take us.”

There was no one really looking for them, not at first. After all, Hannibal’s escape was meant to be a ruse. The intent on the FBI’s part was to do the bare minimum, put up a facade for the public, while Will and Hannibal baited the Red Dragon (or the Tooth Fairy, as most of the public unfortunately still knew him as). Then, Will would blow the whistle and Lecter would be dead or back in jail. That was the plan, at least.

As Hannibal drove them out into the remote countryside, Will had to admit that he might have deviated from the plan a bit.

Their first stop was a safe house. They likely would have driven farther, gotten farther away from where the Dragon’s body now lay, but after two hours of driving it became obvious that hypothermia, not the FBI, was their first concern. The water had not been exactly toasty and though the car had a heater, they were both dangerously cold by the time they got to the house. Without a word, Hannibal went and fetched blankets before disappearing further into the dimly lit house.

It was a small residence. Dusty. The kitchen and living room was one cramped room; there seemed to be a bedroom and a bathroom in the back and not much else. It was not to Hannibal’s tastes, he knew. The cabinetry was nothing short of suburban and the walls were decorated with cheap wall paper, not rare oil paintings acquired over time. As he sat at the dining room table, Will couldn’t help but wonder if Hannibal was going to miss his old home that Will had spent so many nights eating dinner at. Would it bother him that there was still food there, meat that would spoil? Or had he made arrangements already for that to be taken care of?

His thoughts were cut short when Hannibal walked back into the room, now bandaged. He had changed out of the white, blood stained clothes into something more natural - well, natural for Hannibal. A simple black suit with an evergreen tie. He set a stack of clothes on the table, as well as a first aide kit, before dragging a chair over to sit in front of Will.

“Where will we go next?” Will asked.

“Wherever I take us,” Hannibal said. He reached out and tilted Will’s face to the side before holding up a warm washcloth to dab at the knife wound there.

_Us._ The word held too much weight to be addressed at the moment, so he stayed quiet except for the occasional hiss of pain. The silence continued until Hannibal eventually cleared his throat and said, “I will need to bandage your chest.”

Somewhere in the back of his waterlogged brain, Will thought, _you’re willing to slice my skull open but not unbutton my shirt?_ He didn’t say that though. Instead, he just let out a grunt of acknowledgement before peeling off the bloody garment and tossing it to the floor.

Hannibal set about cleaning and bandaging the wounds on his chest and Will fell silent again. The adrenaline of the red dragon had worn off in the car, and all that was left now was exhaustion. Maybe panic, deep in the crevices of his mind where the ‘normal’ part of him lay, but that part of him hadn’t had control of the steering wheel ever since Jack had asked him to consult. Maybe before that, even. At any rate, Will did not have the energy to panic. He barely had the energy to accept when Hannibal handed him a clean shirt.

“You will need rest,” Hannibal said, pulling him to his feet and directing him towards the bedroom. “We will leave early tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years from the past!
> 
> PS I promise not all the chapters are this short


	3. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal has breakfast and a surprise waiting for Will when he wakes up

Pain has a way of leaving one hungover. Nauseous and aching. The body does not want to wake up yet and the mind is not much more receptive. Will lay in bed for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes, just trying to process the dull ache in his wounds, before he remembered _why_ he had wounds and sat bolt upright.

The room around him was lit faintly with sunlight and when he glanced to his side, he realized the bed was dented from someone else sleeping next to him. _Hannibal_ sleeping next to him. He did _not_ remember that... but he didn’t remember seeing anywhere else for him to sleep either. Something about Hannibal, sleeping so close but never waking him up, made his stomach flutter, though he wasn’t sure if it was from discomfort or nervousness or something else entirely.

For a moment, Will thought that he was gone. Left in the wee hours of the morning, leaving him here to be found by the FBI. But then he heard the noises of someone bustling around the kitchen. No, of course he hadn’t left. He was cooking.

Will smiled slightly before trudging to the bathroom. It was a small, cramped bathroom, and just as _not-Hannibal_ as the rest of the house. He sleepily grinned at the toothbrush holder: an open mouthed ceramic frog. The air was heavy with moisture and he realized that his new travel companion must have already taken a shower. Jesus, he had gotten up early.

Once he felt awake enough, he made his way to the kitchen, where he found Hannibal scrambling eggs. “Good morning,” he said, glancing up from the frying pan.

“Mornin’,” he muttered, sitting at the table only for Hannibal to set down a warm mug of coffee in front of him.

“Breakfast will be ready soon,” he said before attending to his cooking once more.

Will chuckled. “Scrambled eggs?”

His nose crinkled slightly in distaste. “Well, I am afraid that this kitchen is not as well stocked as some of my other safe houses. I would have put creamer in that coffee but that was very much spoiled.”

“I can’t believe the great Dr. Lecter drinks coffee with creamer,” Will commented before taking a sip from his mug. “Wouldn’t that ruin the aroma or something?”

More nose crinkles. Normally, he’d be worried that he was offending Hannibal, but he felt that after the events of the night before, nothing Will said could annoy him. Not really. It was still fun to try and draw out those little disgruntled looks. “It’s true, I do appreciate my coffee to be free of any flavor except that of the beans. However, I know you don’t.”

Will suddenly realized that Hannibal kept his safe houses stocked with creamer _for him_ . He stopped teasing.

Breakfast was soon finished and despite Hannibal’s grumbling about lack of seasoning, it was far better than any breakfast Will could have scrounged up with the same ingredients. The scrambled eggs were lightly salted and the bacon (which he assumed to be actual bacon since he doubted Hannibal had time to sleep and hunt the night before) was sizzled to perfection.

“Eat up,” Hannibal said, settling at the head of the table with his own plate. “We have a lot of driving to do.”

“I suppose I’m not allowed to know where we’re going,” he said.

Hannibal gave him a surprised look. “You’re not my prisoner Will, you’re free to do whatever you want. Ask whatever you want, and I will answer. If you are referring to the fact that I didn’t answer you last night, that is because I want to surprise you.”

“Surprise me?”

Hannibal only smiled softly before focusing on his meal. The temptation to ask for more details sat at the tip of Will’s tongue for a moment before he too shrugged and focused on enjoying his breakfast. Whatever it was, he was sure he’d enjoy it.


	4. A Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal go to get some take out food (wink wink)

The drive was quiet.

They left the safe house as it had been. The dishes were washed and dried. The bloody clothes were burned in the backyard and the soot buried. Will drank a second cup of coffee, just to be safe (and fuel his unfortunately necessary caffeine addiction). Hannibal said the kitchen would be restocked if they ever had need of this house again and that was that.

Hannibal drove, of course. One hand on the steering wheel, one on the divider between them. For a moment, Will almost reached across and held his hand, but then decided he best not and simply leaned against the passenger side door. Unconcerned with where Hannibal was taking him, he watched the trees pass by and dozed.

Will was mildly surprised to find that the scenery outside the car window was growing more urban the longer they drove. At first it was nothing but forests. Then small town billboards for local stores and reminding them that ‘Jesus Was Coming’ in bold red letters, then the city in earnest. His stomach twisted slightly. What if they were spotted? What if Jack got word of them? But then he remembered, they had a few days before the FBI realized that he wasn’t really looking for the Red Dragon and he had no intention of turning Hannibal back in. They were safe, for now.

“You talk in your sleep.”

Hannibal said it so suddenly, Will jumped. It had been near silence since they had left that morning and he hadn’t expected a word to be said until they got to wherever their destination was. “What?”

“You talk in your sleep,” he said again. “I noticed last night. Don’t worry, you didn’t wake me.”

Will smiled wearily. Molly complained about his sleep talking for the longest time, until she finally gave up and simply slept with earplugs in to block out his fevered mutterings. “Did I say anything interesting?”

Hannibal glanced at him; he looked as if he was holding back comments.

Will’s smile grew less bitter and more amused. “C’mon, you said we were free. That means you can say anything.”

“I said _you_ were free,” Hannibal clarified.

“Well, Dr. Lecter, that luxury now applies to you. Did I say anything interesting?”

Hannibal hesitated a moment longer before, “No. Nothing more interesting than what you say while awake.” For a brief moment, his tone was almost shy, but the thought of the Chesapeake Ripper being _shy_ felt so foreign to Will that he refused to even think about it. Instead, he looked back out the windows at the gilded buildings they were driving past, though his smile didn’t fade until Hannibal pulled into a parking spot outside an upscale apartment building.

“I take it we’ve arrived?” Will asked curiously.

Hannibal leaned across the divider to peak out the window over Will’s shoulder. “I suppose I should tell you what your surprise is now.”

“I have been dying to know,” he admitted.

He chuckled, the noise soft in his ear. “You should know better than to use that particular turn of phrase around me.”

“Oh hush. Just tell me what it is.”

Will could practically hear the pride in his voice. “I’ve gotten us dinner. A honeymoon feast.”

“Honeymoon?” Will started, turning around to face him only to realize that Hannibal was only inches away from him. His throat went dry. “I, uh, think you’ve skipped a few steps there.”

“Steps?” His tone had turned soft suddenly, or maybe it had been soft the whole time and Will was only just now noticing. Soft and _snide_. He knew exactly what Will meant; he just wanted to hear him say it.

After a stubborn pause, Will shifted, arms crossing over his chest. “You never asked me out, much less proposed. Normal things that happen in a relationship, y’know.”

Hannibal only grew more smug by the minute. “I think it would be safe to say we’re outside the social norm.”

“I’m a married man!”

“You haven’t worn your ring in weeks. You never wore it when you came to see me, at Alana’s. Would that make me your mistress?”

Will had to resist the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “ _Don’t_ call yourself my mistress-“

“Will.”

He stopped talking, mouth still slightly open but unsure of what he was even planning on saying next. He realized in the silence that followed that his heart was pounding, no, _fluttering_ against his chest, as if unable to keep a consistent rhythm in this unexpected moment.

Hannibal smiled softly, somewhere in between amused and fond and something else entirely that probably should have made Will afraid for his life but only made his heart beat harder. “I’ve prepared a meal for you, one that I spent years perfecting. A meal for _you_. I can get a ring if that would be more suitable for you, but don’t deny me this.”

Will felt like if he breathed, the moment would be ruined. He could only stare, shocked and awed at how painfully _honest_ Hannibal was being, how blatant and blunt and _genuine_.

“...Yes.”

And just like that, it was over. Hannibal leaned the rest of the way and pecked him on the cheek before sitting back down in the driver’s seat as if nothing had ever happened. “Wait here then. I’ll fetch our meal for us, dear.” He got out of the car and walked over to the sidewalk. Smiled at the doorman and stepped into the apartment building.

It wasn’t until the door shut that Will realized he hadn’t moved and that he was still pressed against the car door, eyes wide and hands trembling. He finally sat back down normally, though the shock didn’t wear off. He ghosted his fingers over the spot where Hannibal had kissed him, just to be sure - yes, he had. He had kissed him. Asked him out. Proposed. Planned their honeymoon, all in one go.

“Well that was efficient,” Will said to the empty car, a half-hysterical laugh bubbling from his lips.

He couldn’t think of anything else to say, so he didn’t, he just sat and waited while Hannibal got whatever - whoever - he was getting. A meal. _Their_ meal.


	5. Dinner Bell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Casual touch. Compliments. Occupying the same space for no other reason than to enjoy each other’s company. They had skipped over all that in a frantic attempt to get to the perfect ending. And now that they had had their perfect ending, now they had really and truly fallen for each other....”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for explicit but pretty much goreless cannibalism (nothing outside of the realm of the show, most of this is based off of the s3 post credits scene)

She didn’t scream when Hannibal cut her leg off.

Will wasn’t sure if Dr. Du Muarier had been drugged beyond belief or if she was so far gone that she could no longer feel any pain that Hannibal inflicted on her, but regardless, the kitchen was silent as the bloody act was done. He stepped out. He wasn’t afraid of gore, but he wanted to maintain the level of surprise Hannibal had worked so hard to create. He wanted to be unsure of what exactly Hannibal was serving him until it was served.

Bedelia, come to think of it, hadn’t said a word since she had stepped out of the apartment building, half an hour after Hannibal walked in. She hadn’t put up a fight, and Will knew if she had she could have easily escaped their clutches. She had accepted her fate as Hannibal’s meal, he supposed.

He had to wonder if he had accepted his fate, in a different but much more dangerous way.

He couldn’t think of what to do to pass the time so he fiddled about the dining space, wiping off any patches of dust he came across with a spare napkin. The other napkins - three, as only three would be needed - had been meticulously folded and placed at each chair. Delicate silverware adorned each place setting, glittering gems against the dark wood of the table. Tall white candles spluttered against the drafts of the old house.

Eventually, Hannibal walked in, hands and apron stained a dark red. Will regarded him quietly; he looked handsome and dangerous and domestic all at once and he wasn’t sure how to voice that or even if he should.

“I will begin cooking shortly,” Hannibal informed him.

“And our pig? What of it?”

He huffed and stepped closer. A bloody hand came up to caress Will’s face, and he found himself pressing into the warm, wet touch rather than pulling away. “I would never serve something so common as pig to you on such a special occasion.”

Will smiled faintly, eyes drifting shut. He was vaguely aware of Hannibal’s hand shifting to hold his chin in a firmer, more possessive way, but he decided he was in no danger and kept his eyes shut. “Then what shall I refer to it as?”

Hannibal seemed to consider this for a moment; his thumb drifted across Will’s parted lips and he could taste the copper of Bedelia’s blood for just a moment before he drifted away once more. “It is the equivalent of a Black Iberian hog. The heart of puffin. A vintage  _ côte de boeuf _ . A meal so rare that only the most blessed of society can eat it.”

Will cracked an eye open, lips twisting in a small smirk. “Or, with the way people get rich these days, only the most wicked of society.”

He could see Hannibal’s exasperation in his pinched lips and half expected a lecture on how morality and wickedness was nothing more than what humanity made of it, but instead he said, “Call it what it is, an impossibly rare delicacy.”

“Well then. Is our impossibly rare delicacy currently bleeding out in the kitchen? I know we’ve made ourselves at home but I’d like to be able to make cereal in the morning without dealing with a corpse.”

That tugged an almost-laugh out of Hannibal; he drew away entirely. “No. She is bandaged, though she is unconscious. I have put her in the sitting room to rest until it is time to eat. Now, go get cleaned up; I believe Chilton may have some soaps that will bring out that wonderful aroma of yours.”

He turned and walked away before Will could respond, which was good because he had no idea how to respond to that. His cheeks felt burning hot.  _ Really? _ he thought.  _ Out of all things, THAT’S what makes you blush? Not the damn proposal? _

It took a while to find his way through the sprawling mansion and he was already in the shower before it occurred to him why Hannibal’s little compliments always caught him off guard.

Hannibal had always been  _ intense _ . Their relationship had always been all or nothing. Even when they had first met, when Will had been nothing more than an unwilling FBI consultant and Hannibal had been nothing more than a psychiatrist, their conversations had always had a tension like no other. Though Will had not consciously known it, he was talking with an equal for the first time in his life. Conversing with a peer. Someone who knew him in every regard, right down to the fantasies of murder that lurked closely at the edges of Will’s subconscious. And when Will finally  _ saw _ Hannibal.... he thought his response was fear, disgust even, but he knew better now. It was  _ excitement _ . Excitement so intense that he couldn’t even recognize it for what it was.

This was different. The intensity was still there, of course (Will thought he would be deathly disappointed if it had faded), but now there was an extra layer that Hannibal had, quite unexpectedly, added.  _ Fondness _ .

He realized that he had been right in the car: they had skipped some steps. Casual touch. Compliments. Occupying the same space for no other reason than to enjoy each other’s company. In all their intensity and excitement, they had skipped over all that in a frantic attempt to get to the perfect ending. And now that they had had their perfect ending, now they had really and truly fallen for each other....

_ Fondness _ .

Will huffed, realizing that the water had long since run cold and his fingers were wrinkled. He’d lost track of how long he’d been standing there, leaning against the chilled tile of the shower wall, but he knew it had been too long. He quickly washed his hair before stepping out of the shower.

He’d left a change of clothes on the bathroom counter, but found that the plaid shirt and comfortable pants had been replaced with a suit. Vaguely, he realized this meant that Hannibal had stepped into the bathroom while he was showering without him noticing, but he shrugged this off in favour of drying off. After some rifling, he found some of Chilton’s hair products and hesitantly fluffed his hair a bit.

They had made themselves at home at Chilton’s summer estate. ‘He obviously has no need for it right now,’ Hannibal had reasoned and Will felt a bit of smugness knowing that the biographer would likely never know that his two favourite objects of psychoanalysis had used his house so freely. The staff had been quietly dismissed over phone call, apparently before Hannibal had even left Alana’s watchful eye. Unless Chilton opened his charred jaw to order the house be sold, they were perfectly off the radar and happily living in the lap of luxury that Hannibal so enjoyed.

He got dressed quickly but he did take a moment to glance in the full length mirror Chilton had in his closet. He looked nice, he decided. Hannibal had picked the outfit well: a simple white shirt with a pale sea blue jacket and matching pants. Black dress shoes, buffed to perfection. No tie, he noted. After a moment, Will decided to leave an extra button unbuttoned. It wasn’t a lot of extra skin, but he knew that at Hannibal’s dinner table, it would be more than enough. Scandalous, even.

He found Hannibal waiting for him at the base of the stairs, wearing a grey suit that was near identical to Will’s with the exception of a grey vest under his jacket. He wondered how long he had waited there, but decided not to ask. Hannibal didn’t supply an answer, only smiled and offered his elbow. When Will accepted it and wrapped his hand in the crook of his elbow, he murmured, “Dinner is served, my dear.”

Will let himself be led to the candlelit room and found Bedelia sitting at the head of the table. Her make up was immaculate; her gaze was dead as she looked over Will and his bandaged body. She wore a black glittering dress with a plunging neckline and Will couldn't help but picture her at some rich stuffy funeral before realizing that is, in fact, her funeral. A long, painful, drawn out,  _ pitiful _ funeral.

Hannibal ignored her entirely, instead opting to pull a chair out for Will. Always the gentlemen, even when serving the most gruesome of meals. Will smiled. It smelled delicious.

“ _ Coscia cotta nell'argilla,”  _ Hannibal said, breaking through the clay shell that surrounded the roast. “Meat baked in clay. An Italian delicacy, with some small adjustments of course.”

“Of course,” Bedilia said thinly. Will jumped. He hadn’t expected her to speak, what with how silent she had been up until then. He noticed her wine glass was completely emptied before Hannibal quietly but firmly drew his attention back to the course.

“I’ve only been able to cook this once before; sadly, you could not be present for that meal.” He laid a slice of meat onto Will’s plate before adding a few of the green leaves that had formerly been the decoration of the dish. “I believe you were preoccupied at the time, working for Jack Crawford.”

“Working with,” Will corrected, though the snip was absent at best. He was too busy marveling at how wonderful the meat smelled. Slowly, he sliced a piece off of the meat and took a bite. It was, as all Hannibal’s meals were, perfection, though this one tasted even better than what he’d become accustomed to thanks to the significance of it all. Every flavour, every seasoning used was the result of years of careful preparation and planning on Hannibal’s part.

Hannibal watched him for a moment, apparently savoring watching Will savor, before moving to lay a slice on Bedelia’s plate. “Don’t bother,” she said. Her voice was a barely contained snarl. “I said you’d make a meal out of me, I never said I’d eat it.”

“It’s rude to deny a groom on his wedding day,” Hannibal said, voice patient as ever. He put the slice of meat down anyway before adding some to his own plate and sitting down.

“So is that what you are now?” Bedelia asked coldly. She made no move to touch her silverware and Will could feel Hannibal’s impatience. “Grooms? Have you finally accepted Freddie Lounds’ descriptor?”

“I wasn’t aware you read such drivel as TattleCrime,” Hannibal noted, eyes focused on Will.

“When the title contains the phrase ‘murder husbands’-“

“Yes,” Will said suddenly, a bit harsher than he intended. He didn’t want to put up with this dignified bantering any longer than he had to; he wanted to enjoy this dinner with Hannibal, not listen to them argue. There was an awkward pause before he said in a more calm tone, “Yes, we’re partners. Eat your damn food.”

There was a bit of pride in Hannibal’s gaze but Will couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Bedelia didn’t speak again and after a moment, she picked up her utensils and began to eat, begrudgingly.

They ate quietly for a while, each apparently lost in their own thoughts. Bedelia in particular seemed to be stewing in annoyance, but she didn’t voice any of it. In fact, the first person to speak was Hannibal, who said simply, “If you’re finished eating, doctor, perhaps I can escort you to your room.” It was clear that it was an order, not an offer.

“Am I a child, to be dismissed so the adults can talk?” Bedelia snipped.

Hannibal ignored her, instead getting up from his seat and walking into the kitchen. He returned momentarily, carrying a crutch. “If you so insist on being unpleasant, you can walk to your room on your own,” he said in a scolding, patronizing tone. Bedelia bristled. “I believe there is a guest suite set up in the basement.”

She glared at him a moment longer before accepting the crutch and slowly hobbling out of the room. Will watched her, fork hovering just over his plate. 

“Aren’t you worried that she’ll run away?”

“Dr. Du Muarier is like any good livestock,” Hannibal said, settling back down in his chair across from Will. “She may run but she will have no idea what to do with herself once she leaves.”

“And she’ll come running back.” He was reminded of the chickens his mother raised when he was a child; even if they managed to flutter their fat bodies over the fence, they would only dart back and forth trying to get back to the flock.

“I would prefer we did not talk about the doctor any longer,” Hannibal said bluntly.

Will smiled softly. “Is it ruining your honeymoon, sweetheart?” He wasn’t sure where the pet name came from but as soon as it left his mouth, he knew it didn’t fit. Hannibal’s expression was confirmation enough. He would have to try something else.

“It is putting a slight damper on it,” Hannibal admitted. He paused for a moment, considering it, before saying, “ _ Our  _ honeymoon.”

“Then I won’t speak of it again,” he said. He took a sip of his wine; he realized without Bedelia’s harsh eyes on them, he felt like he could openly watch Hannibal eat. Enjoy his own art. Every bite was deliberate, almost thoughtful, and if he had let his mind wander, he might have wondered what it would be like to have those teeth sink into his body instead of Bedelia’s severed leg.

He paused before asking, “When did you decide you weren’t going to eat me?”

Hannibal glanced up at him. Will had expected his eyes to be dark, to take on that dead fish appearance he did when hunting, but they didn’t. They were soft. Infinitely affectionate, so intensively so that he almost had to look away if only so he wouldn’t feel like he was burning up under Hannibal’s gaze.

“I didn’t,” he said. “I still might.”

Will shivered. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He felt like he was back in the car again, trapped against the door and needing escape but not wanting to run away.

Hannibal speared the last piece of meat on his plate with his fork. “At the Verger Estate.”

“What?” Will realized he was absolutely breathless; he knew Hannibal must have noticed, but he didn’t react outwardly.

“I decided I wouldn’t eat you yet at the Verger estate. When Mason said he was going to take your face, your identity-“ He paused to take a breath and Will realized he was angry, really and truly angry, just at the thought of it. “Your mind is a rare and beautiful thing, Will. The thought of it being snuffed out so early, before I could see your design, your becoming.... I needed to keep you to myself.”

Hannibal blinked; he seemed to just realize what he was saying. After a moment of hesitation, he whispered, “...I need you.”

Will’s expression softened; Hannibal looked shy, even ashamed at the confession, as if admitting weakness was a death sentence in and of itself. “Hannibal....” He reached across, hand resting gently over Hannibal’s on the table. “You say that like it's a bad thing.”

“Is it not?” Hannibal said, eyes watching Will’s thumb stroke across his knuckles with near fascination. “You are my fatal flaw, Will.”

He didn’t hesitate to say it -  _ couldn’t _ hesitate, not when Hannibal looked so unsure and so painfully nervous. “And you are mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy this chapter was a monster to write, I hope you enjoyed it! There will be one more chapter to wrap things up <3


	6. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I intended for the fall to be our end.”
> 
> “I know.”
> 
> “Then why wasn’t it?”

Will was not entirely sure how they ended up in the same bed.

They weren’t  _ drunk _ per se, but wine loosened their tongues and the absence of any one else - no Bedelia, no Jack, no Alana, no  _ normal  _ people to object - allowed them a sense of comfort throughout the evening. When the meal was finally finished, they both went stumbling upstairs, laughing as they went. Will didn’t know the layout of the house; how Hannibal did was anyone’s guess. When Hannibal stepped into a room, Will simply followed and, without much conscious thought to the fact that Hannibal was probably intending to retire for the night, collapsed on the bed he found waiting there. The warm blankets welcomed him with a gentle, sinking feeling. Memory foam, or he was more tipsy than he thought.

Hannibal didn’t make any comment on his elegant face plant, only peeled off his jacket and set it, neatly folded, on a nearby arm chair. “You seem tired,” he said, settling opposite him on the bed.

“It’s been a long day,” Will said, lifting his head just long enough to speak before face planting once more.

“We were driving for quite some time,” Hannibal mused. “Which reminds me, I need to change your bandages.”

“I changed them after my shower.” Will sensed the surprised look directed at him. “Hannibal, you cut me to shreds four years ago, in case you’ve somehow forgotten. I’ve taken the time to learn some basic first aide.”

“In case I ever did it again?”

Will rolled over onto his back so he could look at Hannibal more directly. “In case anyone I knew ever had a need of it. I might have retired but there was always a chance that someone - maybe Freddie Lounds’ readers - would come after us.”

Hannibal sniffed, taking a sip of his glass. Will hadn’t noticed he’d brought up a wine glass up with them, but now he wished he had thought to as well. He vaguely wondered if Hannibal would fetch him a glass if he asked nicely. “You should have burnt her while you had the chance,” the man said absently.

“And ruin my cover?” Will said, sitting up to pull off his jacket.

“I could have fixed it,” Hannibal said.

“No, you couldn’t have.”

“...no, I couldn’t have. Not without putting Abigail at risk.”

Will let out a soft hiss; he’d been prodding at his bandage when Hannibal had spoken. “Glad to know you put her safety first and foremost,” he said. His tone was half teasing, half bitter.

A pause. Hannibal reached across the bedspread, fingers gently checking over the bandages on Will’s face. Will thought it was just a distraction from their conversation, but he allowed it. “Have you taken back your forgiveness?”

“No, of course not. But I.... You have to admit the irony.” Another pause. He was picking his words carefully, Will knew it. “Speak openly, darling,” he said. There was the one; Hannibal’s cheeks went ever so slightly pink at the pet name. He vowed to use it as much as possible in the future.

“Would you prefer I misspeak?”

Will sighed. “Alright, alright, take your time.”

Hannibal stood once more and he watched as the man unbuttoned his vest to add to their growing collection of discarded clothes. He didn’t say a word yet, just stepped into the bathroom. Will waited patiently until he returned, now carrying fresh bandages. He settled at the edge of the bed, perched precariously there so he could deal with Will’s wounds. “I... regret Abigail had to die the way she did.”

“But...?”

Hannibal gave him a look, one that could only be described as  _ exasperated _ . “Will, do not fool yourself. She would have died sooner or later.” His tone wasn’t cruel. In fact, it was almost soothing in a way, like a therapist breaking harsh news to a patient. In a way, he guessed that it was.

“By your hand....”

“Actually, I suspect if things had gone on, it would have been by yours,” he said. He carefully peeled back the bandage on Will’s face. “You reflected her father too greatly, my dear Will. Every time you were near her, she only saw her father, and you only  _ felt _ her father’s psyche, overtaking your own. Something, weeks or perhaps years down the line, would have slipped. It would not be your design but it would have been your hand.”

Will felt a bubble of anger in his stomach but remained still as Hannibal cleaned his wounds. “What would you have done?”

“At that point? Turned you over to Alana, I think,” he said. “If you were to slip that far, you would no longer be Will Graham. You’d be someone else, and as fascinating as that might be from the standpoint of a psychologist, I cannot think of something as terrible to me as losing you to the thralls of an empathy disorder.”

Will smiled, then winced as the sting of the antibiotic spray touched his wound. “That’s almost romantic, Hannibal.”

“You have a strange idea of romance.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Hannibal considered him for a moment. He had finished bandaging Will but his hand lingered still, unnecessary but very welcome where he cupped Will’s cheek. “Yes. I suppose you are. Do you regret coming here with me?”

_ You are my fatal flaw. _ Will could hear him whispering it still, thin and velvety in his ear. “No,” he finally said.

He could feel his soft exhale at the word. The warmth of his breath on his skin. Even smell the red wine, still lingering on Hannibal’s tongue. “I’m glad to hear it, dear,” he said.

Will was never sure if it was the wine or the high of emotions of the past few days, but in that moment of closeness between the two of them, he did the one thing that felt most logical: he kissed him.

Hannibal let out a tiny trodden on noise and Will began to pull away, worried that somehow he had misread the situation. Worried that despite everything, he was entirely wrong about how the man felt. But then Hannibal was drawing him back in with both hands, closely pressing against him, pulling them back on the bed so that Will fell messily onto his chest.

“We’re tipsy, darling,” Will managed, though it came out in a low grumble.

“It’s our honeymoon,” Hannibal snipped as though impatient with him- no, not with him, with the interruption of  _ them. _

Will couldn’t think of an argument to be had there.

Eventually they pulled apart, though they still remained close together, hands holding onto clothes or caressing skin. Hannibal traced his fingers along Will’s exposed collar bone; he was suddenly very glad he’d left an extra button undone. Quiet fell over the room and they simply lay there, memorizing each other’s features as if they couldn’t already recall every detail of each other’s bodies. Moonlight spilled in through the windows, casting its cold light over Hannibal’s face.

“We should sleep,” Will murmured.

“You feel safe with me in the same bed as you?” Hannibal teased, though it was clear he had no intention of leaving.

Will grudgingly pulled away and instantly missed the warmth of hands on his skin. “Safe? With you? Never. But trust you? Of course, with my life.” He pulled himself off the bed and rummaged through the suitcase Hannibal had left open on the window seat. He could feel the quiet annoyance that he was messing up Hannibal’s perfect folding, but he ignored that in favour of searching for a set of clothes he could sleep in.

“It’s an odd distinction,” Hannibal noted.

“A necessary one, I think,” Will said, finally discovering a faded grey t-shirt and a pair of boxers. Without a thought to how closely Hannibal was watching him, he took off what remained of his suit. “To feel safe with you would imply that I know you’ll never cause me harm, or that you’ve become predictable.” He pulled the t-shirt over his head; Hannibal had done his best to find him something he would wear but the  _ newness  _ of the fabric still felt uncomfortable against his skin. He supposed it would take getting used to. “Would you like to be predictable, darling?”

He heard the sound of shifting fabric behind him, but was still surprised when Hannibal wrapped his arms around him. His chin rested on Will’s shoulder; it felt as if it fit there by design. “Never. Especially not to you.”

Will smiled. One hand came to rest over where Hannibal’s interlocked, the other rested on the slope of Hannibal’s cheek. He absently traced along the man’s cheek bone for a moment before saying, “I intended for the fall to be our end.”

“I know.”

“Then why wasn’t it?”

Silence, then, “I wanted our story to go on. To find a better ending. Maybe, if you’d let me, I could see your design.”

His smile grew and he turned to place a small peck to Hannibal’s cheek. “I’d like that.”

“Then it is yours to have.”

Not a perfect ending.

The promise that there would be one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they lived happily ever after (and probably murdered some people or something)
> 
> Thanks for reading! I have some other (longer) hannigram fics I’m working on but I wanted to finish this up before I posted anything else


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